Control
by TheInvisibleGurlz
Summary: Waking up, drugged, caged, and naked? Bad. Finding out you're a werewolf? WORSE. Nightwing has a problem, and he's not sure he can solve it, or even who to tell. Lycanthropy bites.
1. Control

**Control**

 **A.N.: I'm still working hard on Tooth and Claw, but this little plot bunny turned up and, since I can't include it in the story itself, I'm writing it as a stand-alone piece until I can start uploading Tooth and Claw. Consider it a deleted scene, if you will. Enjoy!**

Dick's eyes were barely open before he could feel a bright light shining into them. Instinctively, he brought a hand up to shield his eyes as he flinched, not that it did any good. Even in his groggy state, he knew a headache when it squeezed on his skull.

" _Motherfu-,_ _JERRY!_ " a man's voice roared. He didn't get a look at his captor, for the man stormed out of the room before the afterimage could clear from his vision. Once it did, however, silver bars made their appearance in front of his face.

He made to pick himself up off of the floor, only to worsen his head by smacking it against the ceiling. His claustrophobia began to kick in; there was hardly room to breathe in the small, barred space, let alone move.

"I don't _care_ how many you had, Jerry; you shouldn't have been drinking in the first place. Now, we've got a dude in there, instead of a wolf, and the wolf is still out there! When we're through with this, you are _FIRED,_ you hear me? _FIRED!_ " The muffled conversation continued, growing clearer as two clunking sets of footsteps approached. "Hey, hey, get the kid a towel, will 'ya? He's showing more than a post-mortem hooker."

Nightwing glanced down and found the man was right. Sapphire eyes weren't the only jewels being displayed. He laid his head back on his folded arm and idly took note of the numb, tingly feeling enveloping his body.

"For the last time, I wasn't drunk! I know what I saw, and what I saw was a freaking wolf. People don't call animal control over some dude, naked or not."

Despite his confidence in his tipsy decisions, Jerry let out a string of curses upon his entrance. Dick silently followed him with his eyes as the older man stared through the wire bars in amazement. Then, for good measure, he glanced down before shining his flashlight in the boy's eyes, making him squint again. Something groaned as it was dragged across the linoleum floor; he supposed the other guy had pulled out a chair.

Jerry, after thoroughly blinding his captive with his flashlight and far over-stepping his boundaries, unlocked the wire door and dragged Dick out by his shoulders. Whatever he was on must still have been in him, since he couldn't do much more than slump against the plastic cages stacked behind him, head leaning against the top one that had previously been his. That said, he forced himself to move when the elder got too close for comfort as he went to wrap the boy in a towel. Tired though he was, that was just too far.

"Sit down, kid. You really shouldn't be standing just yet," the other man, Phil by his name tag, ordered. Dick obeyed without question, too groggy and high to argue. Still, he couldn't help but feel more than a little uncomfortable with two burly men in the room, and him in nothing but a towel.

"We're not gonna hurt you," Phil began, which somehow alleviated a fraction of his discomfort. "What's your name?"

"Dick. Grayson." He was really tired. "H-how'd I get here. Where am I?" He ran a tingly hand over his face and through his hair in an attempt to wake himself. He listened with half an ear as he dropped a bit of dried leaf from his sluggish fingers.

"We're Animal Control. And _Jerry_ , here," Phil paused to glare at his subordinate. "Got a little drunk last night and tried to capture a wolf, who turned out to be you. How do you remember it?"

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall last night's events. They came to him in choppy flashes.

Himself, pulling off a sweaty T-shirt and vowing to get the heating in his apartment checked out.

A headache arriving soon after that, and white-hot, agonizing pain taking over his body as soon as he stood up.

A nightmarish, barely recognizable image of himself reflected in the mirror.

Screaming. _His_ screaming.

"I was…watching TV at home," he told the men. Wait; did that match what they had said? "I went for a walk, after. Everything after that is kind of a blur."

Phil leveled Jerry with a fiery glare.

"Sorry about this, kid. I-" Dick waved a hand. Whatever happened last night didn't matter. He just needed to get home.

"I'll have our receptionist drive you home. What's your address?"

"1013 Parkthorne Avenue."

"What town?"

"Blüdhaven, Connecticut."

"Connecticut? Kid, you're in New York!"

Dick looked up at the two men in surprise. New York? How'd he get to New York?

"We're not that far from the state border," Phil continued. "Janet'll take you home. Jerry and I are going to scrounge a pair of pants for you, okay? Stay here." Dick nodded.

"You better count your stars, Cruncher," Phil's voice continued in the hallway. "You're lucky I checked on him. We were gonna euthanize the kid, for crying out loud!"

"Coulson, please. I told you-"

"You're fired. No ifs, ands, or buts." A minute later, they returned with a pair of slacks in hand. They were a size too big, but wearable. Phil let him lean on his shoulder as Jerry left, probably to get his belongings out of his locker. The man passed the address on to Janet, who graciously agreed to take the boy home.

The ride was long and blessedly silent, save for the mesmerizing sound of the road. The tranquilizers finally began to wear off in the hour it took to get home, which he would have been glad for, had the numbness not worn off into aching limbs and a killer migraine.

"We're here, honey," Janet sweetly announced. Nightwing looked up from the space he'd been staring into and smiled an awkward thanks to the old woman.

"Are you _sure_ this is your house? I don't think such a strapping young man should be living here." Dick's brows knit together as he turned to see what she was looking at.

Glass trailed along the sidewalk, the bulk of it being below his broken window. The lights in the apartment were still on, making the apartment look that much sketchier.

"It's fine, ma'am," assured her. "Thanks for taking me."

"Oh, it was my pleasure. Be careful over that broken glass, you here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The senior drove off once Dick was through the door.

The apartment was trashed.

Shredded remains of clothes laid on the floor. His kitchen looked like an animal had ripped it apart, with magnets and empty boxes of cereal strewn about the floor. Farther off, pieces of Styrofoam that had previously been a package of chicken sat in their own small patch.

He observed scratch marks as he pulled his bedroom door ajar.

The bedroom itself, thankfully, was somewhat intact, if only for the fact that there wasn't much to break.

The thought flashed through his mind that _he_ might've been the one responsible for the destruction, but he pushed it away almost immediately. Whatever it was that he remembered was just a bad dream.

Deciding to leave everything until tomorrow, he flopped onto his bed to examine his weary body.

Janet had been right about those glass shards, but everything else appeared in order. No redness or visible injuries anywhere. So _why was everything hurting so much?_

He got up again and made his way to the bathroom. The painkillers behind the mirror were downed in an instant.

Of their own accord, his eyes travelled upwards to meet his reflection in the mirror, just to make sure it was still him. Still human.

The reflection met those standards. At least, it was now.

He shook the thought from his mind as soon as it had arrived. He was watching TV last night.

He was watching TV, someone got into his house, drugged him, knocked him out, and tore the place up on their way out. Then they went to New York and stuffed him into a dog crate. It was a man who had captured him and left him sore.

This it was and nothing more.

But that didn't explain why his kidnapper would go to such a distance to kidnap him and then vanish. Or why he didn't remember the kidnapper. Or why Animal Control _specifically_ had been singled out.

Or why Phil and jerry had expected anything to be in his crate at all.

He shook his head again as he got dressed. He needed a fresh pair of eyes on this.

* * *

" _Nightwing, B01_ ," the computer announced. Bruce, predictably, was typing away at the computer. Dick tiredly went up to him and pulled up a chair.

"Where were you?" The words were clipped and strained out of Bruce's mouth. Dick noted that even each keystroke was a short, jerky movement. He sighed.

"Whatever you called me for, I didn't get the alert. I was in New York."

Bruce's brows furrowed as his typing stopped. "Why were you in New York?"

"I don't know!" he exploded. In that one sentence, all of his frustrations and unanswered questions came out. "That's why I came here; I wanted your opinion."

This time, it was Bruce's turn to sigh, a silent invitation for him to start talking.

"I woke up in a dog crate this morning, without any clothes or any memory of last night. Apparently the Animal Control guy who put me in the crate was a little drunk and got me instead of a wolf."

Bruce's brows furrowed deeper as he processed the ludicrous information.

"I think someone got into my house last night and kidnapped me. They must've used some sort of gaseous drug to put me out and then they dragged me off to New York."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Bruce growled, resuming his typing. It appeared he was trying to hack into the CCTV system.

"I was watching TV in my room. I must've passed out and had a bad dream or something, next."

"What happened in the dream?" It wouldn't be the first time that one of his unconscious escapades had proven useful.

"That's what I'm still confused about. I was watching TV, like I said, and then it started getting… _ridiculously_ hot. I got a headache later on, and when I went to get some painkillers for it, the second I got up, it was like I was being burned alive. I got to the bathroom, regardless, and when I did, I caught my reflection in the mirror. It looked…terrifying. Just…" he trailed off, staring into space.

Bruce looked away from his son, redirecting his attention to the screen in front of him.

"Here's the feed from a traffic camera outside your house.

The computer showed, for several minutes, the calm and peaceful exterior of Dick's lighted apartment.

"Could you turn it down? It's kind of loud," the boy complained. Bruce shot a passing glance at him, but complied, nonetheless.

Five minutes later, a glimpse of a shadow appeared in the window, gone in a split second. Three minutes after that, something smashed through it and tore off in a blur.

It wasn't until the twenty-sixth frame of the crash that they finally got a somewhat clear image of the form, but when they did, somehow neither could truthfully say they were all that shocked.

In the frame, falling from his window and dashing off at great speeds, was a big, black wolf.

Dick leaned his back against the chair, all of his carefully built theories crumbling down.

It hadn't been a dream. Oh, man, he was a werewolf.

 **A.N.: I couldn't think of a better way to end this. I hope you enjoyed the scene as much as I did. Then again, I think we all can enjoy a little bit of exposed Nightwing from time to time.**

 **To the guest who reviewed on Bludhaven's location: very observant of you. However, when I checked it on the Young Justice Wiki, it said that Bludhaven was a suburb of Gotham, so I figured they'd at least be in the same state. Still, I'm impressed that you know what you do. Congratulations!**

 **Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	2. Self

**Self**

 **A.N.: I'll admit that I'm in a bit of a rut for Tooth and Claw, so I'll add another chapter to this to keep myself busy. Don't get used to it, now!**

 **I'm also working on The Sane in the Asylum and a new story called The Silent Hear the Loudest Screams, which is a RWBY fanfic. You'll see those pretty soon. I've also gotten a FaceBook page, which you can find by searching my pen name. Enjoy!**

"The-there's no way," he concluded, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I-I'm not, I _can't_ be…"

He sank his head into his hands, clutching his raven locks. He could feel his heart pounding and his lungs burning as they inflated and deflated, each breath more ragged and rapid than the last. _IT WASN'T REAL!_

Hands roughly grabbed his shoulders and turned him in his seat. Bruce fixed him with a steel glare.

"Breathe. Slowly." He drew out each word as he growled them, his eyes never leaving Dick's. The boy matched his father's slow, deliberate breaths on instinct, the stern glare grounding him, pulling him back from shock. Bruce maintained eye contact, continuing to draw his speech.

"We don't know for sure if that really was you that fell out of the window," he glanced down to the boy's arm. "Pull up your sleeve; I'm going to take a blood test." Dick obeyed, wincing slightly as the needle pricked his skin.

"Do you know when this might've started?" asked the elder, trying uncharacteristically to keep the conversation going. There wasn't an answer.

Bruce glanced up, and found his former ward staring blankly into space. He snapped a finger nest to the boy's ear, making him jump back to attention.

"Did you hear what I said?" Dick nodded.

"No, I have no idea how it could've started," he lazily replied.

His breath hitched as the needle was drawn out.

"Go to bed," the older man commanded. "You need the rest. Let me know if you remember anything else."

Dick nodded as he indolently got up from the seat, shoving his hands into his pockets. His footsteps bounced around the cave's walls as he left.

The halls of the mansion were empty, for which Dick was eternally grateful. It meant no one could see the way he kept clenching his fists so that the tendons glided across his now white knuckles or the way he drew his breath through his teeth. Apparently, even Batman could only do so much to aid shock.

By the time he got to his room, the shock had given way to something else. Something that burned and twisted in his gut and fought its way into his throat.

With the loud crash of the nightstand Dick had impulsively tipped over, it found its way out.

Not satisfied, he grabbed a small clay pot – a former art project – from the floor and chucked it at the opposite wall. When it only succeeded to put a large, ragged dent in the wall, he picked it up again and sent it into a picture frame. And then through his window.

His feet carried with a few backwards steps before he flopped onto his bed, his fury-induced energy spent.

"I'm not a werewolf. I'm not a werewolf. I am _not_ a werewolf," he told himself on a mantra as he lay there, perpendicular to the bed with his legs hanging off of the edge. His voice caught on the last word, as if just saying it aloud was belief enough to make it true.

He somehow failed to convince himself with his little pep talk.

He felt himself drift into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When he woke again, it was to torture. A persistent thumping rang in his ears. Covering them helped, but not by much.

 _'It's not my heartbeat_ ,' he told himself, still not convinced. _'It's probably just Alfred's footsteps.'_

When he failed to return to the respite from before, he made his way downstairs to the living room, earbuds in hand.

The muted crackling of the fireplace did its part to calm his nerves, but it still didn't put him to sleep.

After twenty minutes, the grandfather clock slid open and Bruce stalked his way up. Another throbbing noise joined with Dick's own, prompting him to sit up.

At the sound of Dick's movement, Bruce turned to address the teenager.

"The computer didn't detect any known viruses, but when I took a look at your blood manually, I discovered a new kind of pathogen. I sent the results to Leslie; she's never seen anything like it before." Dick nodded in understanding.

"I reviewed the rest of the footage from the traffic camera. No one else in or out of your house, until that woman drove you home."

Dick could tell what he was doing. He was dancing around the word, trying to open the possibility of alternative answers by simply stating the facts, as well as keep him calm. He was trying, but it wasn't working.

"Yeah," his voice rasped. "Yeah," he repeated so Bruce could hear it, making his ears ring.

"Did you remember anything?" the man continued, sitting in the chair adjacent to Dick, who shook his head.

"No, but it doesn't matter." He cleared his throat. "My hearing's been escalating. And smell," he realized. "There's no explanation for that. It's official: I'm a werewolf." He all but hated himself just for saying the word.

"We can't-" Batman started to say, but Dick cut him off.

" _What's your explanation, then?!_ " he screamed. "'cause I've got nothing! Absolutely nada!"

Silence stretched like an unstable bridge between them. Finally Dick sighed and got up.

"I'm going to back to bed." And he did.

 **A.N.: I don't particularly like this chapter, but it could be worse. Let me know if there are any scenes you'd like to see in Tooth and Claw, because I'm still in kind of a rut with the story, and I may have bitten off a little more than I can chew. Please note, however, that this origin story is in no way similar to that of Tooth and Claw. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	3. Animal

**Animal**

 **A.N.: the more I think about these stories, the more different they become. So I hereby make Control its own (very short) story. This chapter also goes out to Sairey13, who gave me some ideas for details in this story. I'm going to explore lycanthropy more as a debilitating, chronic disease, though. I hope you like it. Enjoy!**

Dick flinched as his phone rang, despite the headphones over his ears.

He pulled of the headphones, feeling both freed of their confining squeeze on his head, and trapped by the barrage of noise that assaulted his ears – the reason he hadn't left his room all month, except for unappealing meals.

"Yeah?" His voice came out hoarse.

" _Dick?"_ Barbara's voice replied. " _Are you okay? I've been worried sick."_

Guilt pooled into his stomach at her slightly frantic words. He'd been ignoring her calls and not even looking at her texts, which had to have numbered in the hundreds, by now.

"Sorry, Babs," he apologized. "Listen. I'm going to have to take some time off from the team. I'm making you leader."

 _"Dick, what's wrong?"_ she asked. _"Tell me."_

"I…" he considered his next words. "Received a diagnosis, recently."

 _"A bad one?"_ a moment's pause brought. Dick nodded.

"Yeah," he said when she didn't reply to the nod she couldn't see. "It's livable, but I just need some time to get used to it, y'know?"

 _"I understand,"_ she replied. He noticed that her voice cracked despite her calm words. _"Take all the time you need."_

"Thanks, Babs."

With that, he tossed his phone back onto the nightstand and buried himself back underneath the covers. He allowed his mind to wander as his eyes rested.

Last night had apparently been one of _those_ nights. He wasn't an idiot; he had learned within the first week that he was now more prone to sleepwalking and talking. Maybe it had something to do with being nocturnal; he didn't know.

Nocturnal or not, he chose to sleep during the night like he'd used to. Anything to be that much closer to human.

But that didn't stop the wolf within.

He swore sometimes he could _feel_ it. Not just as a secret knowledge at the back of his mind; no, sometimes, it presented itself as a twisting, moving, biting mass in his gut. And at night, it found its way out.

Sometimes he'd wake up in bed, like normal; sometimes he'd find himself curled up on the floor somewhere; but a few details would always stay the same. His throat would be sore, and Bruce would be tired, look at him weird at breakfast, and never mention the howling that had kept him awake.

Chicken soup wafted up to his nose, meaning Alfred was already making lunch. In response to this, Dick reached over and sleepily grabbed the surgical mask that sat on his nightstand next to his headphones, before following it up with them.

Ten minutes later, a knock pounded in his ears through the headphones.

"Dick," a voice he wished was muffled sounded through the door. "Lunch."

A part of the wolf that had been impatiently sitting inside him pulled to leave, and maybe find something more appetizing than chicken soup.

Another part told him just to sleep through the entire day and get some food at night.

A more human impulse told him to get up, get dressed, and eat lunch like a normal person.

He groaned inwardly, but got up anyway, pulling off the mask and slipping a shirt over his head. He traded the mask for a pair of sunglasses.

The soup would have been good, he decided. It would have been good, had he been able to be in the room with the pot and _not_ feel like he was being choked because of the smell.

"So," Bruce began. Dick set his spoon back in the bowl to let him know he was listening.

"Tonight's the full moon." He nodded. "What are you going to do?"

Dick frowned. This had been the last question he'd wanted asked. He'd been avoiding the subject since day one, but now the procrastination had caught up to him, leaving him with no good options.

"The cell in the Batcave," he answered. "Who knows? Maybe I won't change at all, down there."

"And if you do? You'll get hungry at some point."

He shrugged and said "Chuck a rabbit in there or something," before spooning up more of his soup.

Bruce looked taken aback. "A rabbit?" he asked, just to make sure he'd heard it right.

"If you can find something bigger, no one's stopping you," Dick added. Bruce chalked it up to the nearing full moon and let the macabre phrases slide. A few moments later, Dick realized himself and shook himself back to semi-awareness.

Dick returned to his room after lunch. Six blessedly quiet hours later, his phone rang again, this time with a text.

 _Moonrise in half an hour. Get down here now._

As he walked back downstairs, keeping his hands over his ears, the wolf twisted and begged to get out and hunt. Begged to be _free_.

He clenched his teeth and ignored it.

The cell in the Batcave was made of clear, tempered Plexiglas, a design flaw that the Dark Knight reluctantly admitted to. But it was strong enough to hold up the Bat-mech without breaking, so it worked well enough for this.

That didn't mean it smelled any less dank and moldy as the rest of the cave, though, and Dick rued the thought of spending the night in there.

Dick let himself into the darkened cage and lay on the cot inside. Bruce must have adjusted the volume of the speaker in it, because his ears didn't ring when it crackled to life.

 _"If at all possible, try to stay conscious and aware while you change. Tell me if and when it starts."_

"Will do," he answered before rolling over and pulling the covers up to his chin.

Half an hour later, he found himself sweating under the blankets. He absentmindedly pulled his clothes off, settling beneath the covers again. It was only when pain struck his head like a stone that his mind finally registered the cause.

"Oh, crap," he muttered as he sat up. "Bruce! It's starting!"

 _"Stay calm,"_ the speaker commanded. _"Describe the pain to me."_

"It's just- It's just _hot_ , and… my head is killing – _AH_!"

He'd stood up, which was his second mistake. The first must've been not going outside to change in privacy. Because, just like last time, the full-body pain took over as soon as he moved. He barely even noticed when he dropped to his knees from the ache.

He screamed and cried like a month ago as he rolled onto his back; just now with an audience.

He caught a glimpse of his new reflection in the wall. It was, save for his yellow eyes, normal. That was only for the split second.

A part of him had wanted to black out, last time. Now, as he laid there and writhed in pain from his transforming body, he realized why.

His throat constricted as his will tugged to keep talking. What should have come out as words, instead sounded like a cross between a bark and a howl. He let out another howl as his knees snapped in the opposite direction and his ribs pushed forward, squishing his stomach and jettisoning its contents.

The rancid smell only repeated the action. He whimpered.

The world became a dark circle in his vision, and he knew there was no use holding it off. He closed his eyes and let the wolf, howling and smiling, take over his mind.

* * *

Five and a half hours, that wolf had been scratching at the glass walls of the cage with claws like razors. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out its growls and yelps, the latter only sounding when pieces of Plexiglas caught in its paw or when its claws scraped the surface and caused a horrible screech.

It occurred to him that the wolf – Whatever it was, in there, it was _not_ Dick – was probably starving, and that, like Dick had said before, giving it a rabbit or something bigger would satisfy it, for now. But how to go about that?

The easiest way, of course, would be to go out; kill some poor, defenseless creature, for which Diana would probably give him a lecture; and give it to the wolf. But there were a few problems with that.

The first was that he didn't kill, not even animals. The second was the fact of actually getting it _in_ the cell without it ripping his head off. And the third was the uncertainty that prey that was already dead would actually sate the thing.

He threw another glance at the animal and sighed. Getting up from his chair, he gave up on trying to find a better way and went for the easiest one.

"Alfred," he called. "I'm going out. I'll be back in ten."

Sure enough, ten minutes later he had secured a large, fat rabbit and was on his way back to the cage, preparing his ears to be assaulted with…

Silence. The scraping and howling that had resounded in the cave was gone.

A sense of foreboding in his stomach, he finished his walk into the main area and looked towards the clear cell.

There was still vomit in the cage, but no wolf. In the side of it was a huge, gaping hole with shards scattered about. It looked like all that scraping wasn't just for show.

"Alfred?" he called again. "Alfred?!" The end of a growl accompanied the second call, and he looked down to face the creature.

It was hungry, that was for sure. Bruce swayed the rabbit in front of it and its eyes tracked it for every inch.

Batman stooped slowly to the ground and tossed the dead animal halfway between them. The wolf simply stared for a second, before making to take the offered food.

There was just one problem. As soon as it stepped forward, it whimpered again and took a step back. It made sense, he supposed, considering the mess of glass where he'd undoubtedly landed.

Slowly, and always with eyes locked onto the wolf's, he stepped forward and gingerly picked up the rabbit, throwing it closer a moment later.

It only took a second for it to lie down and start tearing at the corpse. It only took ten for it to finish and start growling again. Still hungry. Still dangerous.

Still family.

But still a predator.

For a reason Bruce couldn't identify, he heart squeezed, even as he pulled a small dart from his belt.

The wolf crouched, and lunged.

Too little.

Too late.

Bruce had side-stepped the attack, dodging the wolf by inches and near-blindly firing the dart at the animal. It fell flat on its face, the sedatives on the dart were so strong.

The man clenched his fists as his heart squeezed again. He took a few steps forward, picked up the wolf, and carried him over to a hospital bed.

The sedatives would last until moonset. He just needed sleep.

* * *

A sharp pain pulled Dick from his sleep. He didn't even bother opening his eyes; they were already hurting from whatever light was in the room.

Each breath brought a strong smell of disinfectant, tea, cookies, and washing detergent, which punched him in the gut each and every time.

"Alfred?" he coughed.

"Yes, I'm here, Master Dick." The boy grit his teeth against his ringing ears. His foot stung for a second time, making the boy try to pull it away from whatever was hurting it, only to have it roughly pulled back.

"What happened?" he said. "What did I do, last night?

"You escaped your cell, and nearly tore your hands and feet to ribbons doing it. You ate, as well. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry. And tired. Where's Bruce?"

"In bed. Now hush and go to sleep." He pulled out another shard of glass.

"I didn't…"

"No, Master Dick, you didn't hurt him. Or me, for that matter."

Dick cracked one eye open and glanced down.

He was lying on his side in a hospital bed, with a blanket draped over him from his chest to above his ankles. Alfred was at the end of the bed with his left foot in his hand and a pair of tweezers in the other, trying to pull all the glass out. He could vaguely feel bandages on his other foot and both hands, and a cold washcloth on his forehead.

He squirmed for a moment before settling down again, grateful to just keep his eyes closed and relax.

As soon as Alfred finished wrapping his foot, he left him on the bed. Dick reached over to the table beside him, where he found a fresh outfit and got dressed, glad that he at least had some privacy when he woke up. As he ditched the washcloth, he noticed that Alfred had also been kind enough to grab his headphones and hospital mask.

There was already a plate of breakfast at his bedroom door; unusual since he typically went to the kitchen to eat. It seemed Alfred _was_ pretty keen on him getting some sleep.

He poked at the gelatinous ball on the plate, surrounded by a small amount of a tan powder and a dark syrup.

The dish amounted to water, but at least it didn't smell too strongly.

He looked out the window to the green grass and gardens below him, and the tree line beyond that. It wasn't the wolf that wanted to leave, this time; it seemed that letting it out last night had given it enough freedom. Now, it was him that was starved for the fresh, open air.

 _'Bruce is asleep,'_ a little voice in head told him. _'And Alfred is in the kitchen. You can leave them. You can run. You can_ breathe. _'_

The room melted away as he wrestled with himself.

He didn't get to make up his mind, because a car hurtled past him, missing him by inches and laying on its horn.

 **A.N.: I wasn't entirely sure how to end this, so this is the end of the chapter. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	4. Losing

**Losing**

 **A.N.: Hey, no reviews on the last chapter. Did I do something wrong? Please let me know.**

 **If it wasn't clear before, Dick left the mansion while he was mulling over leaving the mansion. Sort of like when you use your phone in your room for a while, and when you look up, you get disoriented. Enjoy!**

"Alfred, have you seen Dick?" Bruce asked, almost casually, as he walked into the kitchen.

"I ordered him to get some sleep, sir. He should be in his room." Alfred flipped one of the pancakes on the griddle.

"He's not there, now. I just checked."

"Perhaps he went into the parlor or back to his apartment?"

"He's not there, either, and his phone is still in his room. His headphones and mask are there too." Bruce glanced at the clock, which told him he was already late for work, and shook his head, making up his mind.

"Keep an eye out for him. Search the house if you need to. If you still can't find him, call Wally and get him to look around town."

Bruce grabbed a blueberry pancake to eat in the car, and then left a rather worried Alfred behind.

 **BREAKLINE**

Going outside had been a stupid decision, Dick concluded. Every single light burned his eyes until he could barely see anything else, and the sound that had once been white noise of the daily grind now ground into his ears like nails on a chalkboard. The noises really got under his skin and made him clench his fists. The much faster beating of his heart didn't help matters.

And the _smells_. He'd never noticed the way everything smelled, before, and now he couldn't ignore it if he tried.

Even worse was the fact that there were no more good smells in the city. Hot dog venders reeked of sweat, yeast, and disgustingly oily water. Flowers were sharp instead of subtle, and every woman's perfume made him want to gag as he passed them.

But, he decided, trees were tolerable enough. So, he claimed a spot on a wooden bench in a shaded area, watching as the first few yellow leaves began to fall from the tree branches and wishing for a cooler day.

Half an hour passed, and it had only gotten hotter. More people began to spill onto the streets, making the noise in his ears even worse, and raising his heart rate further.

Something rushed past him, making him cough as he caught its scent in the breeze.

"Dude!" he exclaimed, edging away from the man at his side. "Take a shower, once in a while!"

Wally chuckled and gave his friend a light shove. Dick smiled and tried not to breathe.

"So, what gives? I heard you got out of the superhero game. I didn't think you'd leave so soon, if ever."

"Yeah," Dick agreed. He cleared his throat. "Unforeseen circumstances."

"Circumstances like…"

"A diagnosis. I'm sick."

"Sick like, _deathly_ sick?" Dick shook his head.

"No, I'll live. But I can't fight in my condition, at least not now."

"You'll get back at it," the ginger replied, sighing as he relaxed against the back of the bench. "You won't let something like this stop you."

Dick smiled at the simple ease the speedster spoke with.

"Thanks, man." He wiped some sweat off of his brow. "Aren't you hot in that?" His friend was wearing a zipped jacket and jeans, whereas he himself was wearing nothing but a t shirt, sweatpants, and some sneakers.

"No, it's only, like, 50 degrees out. Are you hot?" Dick nodded, rubbing his temples to ward off the headache blooming in his skull. The smells and sounds were really getting to him.

"I'd better get home," he said. Wally smiled like that had been some secret goal of his.

Dick got up, and immediately doubled over in pain, biting out a curse and wondering why he didn't notice this earlier.

He was changing. In _public_.

He felt Wally pull one of his arms over his shoulder, trying to keep him from hitting the ground.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately. Dick couldn't see his face; his eyes were squeezed shut.

"You need to get me out of here," he replied breathlessly. Already he could feel his bones fighting crunch into position, and he focused hard on keeping them where they were.

"Where?" Wally asked, holding his friend's head so as to look him in the eyes. Dick flinched.

" _I don't care! Just get me out of the way!_ " Wally didn't need to be told twice.

He picked up the brunette in a bridal-style hold and rushed him to a back-alley at the edge of the inner city, where he gingerly placed him on the ground in the disgusting place.

"How can I he-"

"Get out," Dick snarled, fighting to keep his voice steady. He could feel himself shaking with effort. He heard Wally draw in a breath.

Dick, with no lack of pain, raised his head and opened his eyes to glare at his best friend, who stepped back at the mere sight of him and his glowing eyes.

" _Get._ Away _. From me._ " This time, he outright growled around the fangs filling his mouth. And not just a figurative growl; he literally made the most inhuman sound he'd ever made.

The older took a step back, before vanishing into thin air with a light breeze. Dick dropped his head.

 _Focus_ , he told himself. _Just breathe._ With this, there were just three problems.

Inhale through nose: alcohol and stale pee.

Exhale through mouth: The _taste_ of alcohol and stale pee.

Hold breath: increase stress and encourage the transformation.

It didn't help, either way. Each breath brought a fresh wave of stench.

Somewhere – probably near the city center, but not nearly far enough for him – gunshots went off, and there were people screaming.

He clamped his hands over his ears to block out the sound, but that didn't do much good.

His ears still rang like nails on a chalkboard, making him clench his jaw so hard that he could almost feel a tooth crack.

Dick cursed again, half-opening his eyes and seeing only about half of the alley. He tried to ignore the scent of seat radiating off him as he wiped a tear from his furry face and the dark tunnel closed around him.

 **A.N.: I promise; I'll start the next chapter soon, ok? Speaking of, what do you want to see happen? Should Wally Go after Dick or go tell Alfred? Should Dick terrorize the city, or run off to the mansion? Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	5. Damage

**Damage**

 **A.N.: I'm not really sure what to say about this. Enjoy!**

It was at least a minute before Wally stopped running and found himself a city over.

Dick was…

He was…

Wally wasn't sure, honestly. He had a hypothesis, sure, but it was hardly well supported.

Still, it was obvious _something_ was wrong with him.

Should he tell Alfred? What's the worst that could happen if he did?

Odds are, he already knew and would just calmly tell him that Dick would come back in "his own good time." Everything would be fine.

But what if he didn't know? Would they send him away? What if they did? His best friend would be on the streets as a…as a…

Wally shook his head. Whatever was happening, it was something he could _totally_ handle alone.

Right?

Dick wasn't dangerous.

Right?

Setting his jaw with determination, Wally turned around and darted back to the alley he'd dropped his friend in.

Only to find that he wasn't there.

Somehow, in the time it took him to get back, Dick had gotten up and left. And took off his shoes, apparently.

Wally sighed and picked up the sneakers, throwing them behind the dumpster before dashing to the nearest store and picking up a few steaks on the off chance that his hypothesis was supported.

As it turned out, it wasn't all that hard to find…it? Him?

Whatever.

Following the sounds of people screaming was the easy part.

Wrapping his head around the clothes-wearing wolf? Hard part.

A bushy, black tail poked out of the left leg of Dick's gray sweatpants, now torn into shorts, and the white t shirt covered most of the rest of the wolf's fur.

It would've been funny, if it hadn't been baring its teeth at him.

Wally tore into the plastic casing, pulling out a rib eye and letting the smell waft its way to the wolf's nose.

Prowling closer to him, the wolf took a tentative sniff at the meat, before tearing off half of it and finishing it three bites.

Wally took a step back when the wolf returned its attention to the remainder of the steak in his hand. The wolf, in retaliation, took a step forward.

Wally turned on his heel and ran – at a civilian pace, of course – with the wolf bounding at his heels, chasing the food and lolling its tongue out of its fanged mouth.

He put on extra speed when he finally saw his destination: a cave that he and Dick used to hide out in, as kids. He doubted if the Dark Knight actually knew about the place.

He ran in without hesitation, and the wolf did the same, following the beef as he threw it onto one of the old, probably filthy mattresses they had hidden back in the day. He followed it up with the rest of the meat.

The wolf now thoroughly distracted, Wally slowly and silently backed out of the cave, letting the animal tear its food to bits.

About twenty minutes passed and the morning had gotten somewhat warmer, making Wally take off his jacket so he had something to sit on. He was also pretty sure that the wolf had finished its meal and fallen asleep. It _was_ a wolf, right?

He couldn't be so sure that it was, now. Because he could've _sworn_ he heard a familiar and very _human_ groan come from inside.

Another ten minutes passed before he got the courage to get up and glance into the cave.

Lying face down on the mattress was his best friend, barefooted and sleeping like he'd just finished thanksgiving dinner.

Hypothesis supported, then.

The man took a few steps back, before making his way back to the alley.

 **BREAKLINE**

Dick coughed as he woke up, smelling dirt, dust, and mold on the air. Still, he supposed, it was better than it could've been. There was next to no light, and the only two sounds he could hear were his heartbeat and something else's.

He tried to drag himself up, but didn't get much farther than to pick his shoulders off of…whatever he was on.

Lazily he turned his head to identify the other pulse, only to slump back into the – was it a mattress?

"I guess now you know, huh?" he whispered. Wally didn't reply.

Dick sighed as he rolled himself onto his back, this time keeping eye contact with the older man.

"Aren't you gonna say something?"

"What am I supposed to say?"

Dick huffed out a breath and shook his head. "Never mind." He let his eyes slip shut, content to just lie there.

"How long has this been going on?" Wally whispered at last. Dick opened his eyes again, trying to get a read on his friend's face. He seemed almost scared.

"At least a month," he replied, looking back at the dark expanse that he guessed was a ceiling.

"Oh, man, that sucks! And you don't know when it started?"

"No. At least, I can't think of anything." The redhead seemed to chew on this.

"Well," Wally seemed to conclude. "I guess I'd better get you home. Do you need to be carried?"

The answer apparently didn't matter, because he tried to pick him up anyway, only to be pushed off by a coughing, gagging werewolf.

"Remember what I said about taking a shower? I'll be fine, just give me, like, an hour or two. Hey, you got any food?"

"No, sorry." Dick grunted as he reached over and pulled up one of the old blankets at his side.

He heard Wally step out and pull out his phone, calling Alfred to say that he was safe and sound, and telling him that they were just hanging out for a few hours.

 **BREAKLINE**

Grass rustled underneath Dick's bare feet as he enjoyed a sunny day in the woods. The breeze gave a light shove to his shoulder as he walked between the trees, far from the beaten path, now. The sun shone pleasantly on his face, and he smiled at the warmth.

A light rustle on the other side of some bushes pricked his hears, making him duck behind the foliage and peek over the leaves.

A deer was grazing on the other side, the light breeze sweeping away any evidence of a threat as it pressed his shoulder again.

As silently as he could manage, he skirted around the line of bushes until he reached the edge, downwind of the animal. Edge out from behind the bush, calculate the jump…

And he lunged.

He only felt the buck's stiff fur beneath his palms for a second, before he blinked his eyes open to the dark world.

"It's been three hours. Do you still need anything, or…?" Wally asked, removing his hand from his friend's shoulder. Dick finally pulled himself up from the mattress, stretching his sore muscles. A relieved smile crept across his face as he breathed; the wind had changed, whisking away the earthy smell of the cave and instead giving him the smell of soap from his friend's damp hair. The elder took a few steps away to scope out the area.

He squinted at the light from the entrance.

"Actually, hey Wally?" The man in question turned to his friend.

"Do me a favor and run by my room. Inside it is a pair of headphones, sunglasses, and a surgical mask. Bring them here, please."

"Of course." Dick coughed as the wind from the speedster's departure brought in a fresh wave of dirt. His brows furrowed as he noticed Wally's odd behavior, his eagerness to help out, but he didn't rest on it for too long.

Ten seconds later, Wally was watching Dick put on the hospital mask, then the shades, and finally, the headphones.

"You're really that bad." Dick looked up from his shoes, which he was slipping back into.

"Sorry?"

"You really need those, don't you?" The brunette nodded.

"I'm really sensitive to things like sound, lights, and smells. These make it a little easier."

They left the cave together, grass bending underfoot.

"So, do Bruce and Alfred know about this?" Dick nodded.

"Yeah, they know," he replied.

Relative silence followed; birds were still chirping, and he could still make out their two heartbeats through the headphones.

He looked up as another, more sudden noise caught his attention; they must've been getting near the city, again.

He found himself stumbling sideways as a hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him roughly to the left.

"What are you doing?" he asked, pulling his elbow free and jerking his thumb in the direction of the city. "The mansion's this way." The speedster looked like a deer in the head lights, his eyes wide and worried.

"Well, I figured if we skirted the city, we could avoid…Y'know…"

"What, me changing?" Wally pressed his lips together with a stiff nod and redirected eyes. Dick scoffed at him.

"Three hours ago, I could barely hold my head up; I think we're safe."

"Still, do you really want to risk it?" he replied, eyes glancing over his friend's human form, still not making true eye contact. The smell of sweat radiated off of him.

Dick suppressed a growl, sighing harshly instead.

"Whatever. Let's just go," he said, pushing past the ginger and keeping his eyes on the ground.

It was about an hour of tense silence and crunching footsteps until they reached the mansion. Cut grass hit his nose as the pair walked the driveway; Alfred must've been outside, mowing the lawn.

This meant that, as he opened the doors at eleven in the morning, the manor was blessedly silent and scentless.

"Hey." Dick turned to face his friend. "I'm not going to tell anyone else about this, if that's what you want."

This time, green eyes locked onto his face, big and round and sickening to him with their pity. He didn't need pity.

He pressed his lips together, but nodded all the same.

"Thanks."

 **A.N.: What do you think? What's good? What's bad? Be sure to let me know.**

 **I got the idea about Wally pitying Dick from a guest user, whose review was in Spanish (Thank you, Google Translate). Grácias por la idea, visitante!**

 **Also, how do you think Dick became a werewolf? Who knows, maybe I'll reveal it sometime soon, but only if you weigh in! Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	6. Freak

**Freak**

 **A.N.: And now, some (sort of) Daddy!Bats. Enjoy!**

Dick trudged back to his room, eyes half closed and face nearly gone slack.

He pulled off the headphones, shades, and mask as the door to his room closed behind him, and flopped onto his bed, wishing he could just lie there and sleep some more.

Yet, questions nagged at his brain, forbidding slumber. Questions that made his hands shake and his stomach churn. One in particular kept popping up.

' _If just being outside can make me change, how safe am I, really?'_

Every time the thought reared its head, he tried to squash it down, mostly unsuccessfully.

He eyed the clock on his nightstand, noting that he'd already been brooding for four hours straight.

 _'Just this once,'_ he told himself, slipping out of his shirt and pants. _'I'll sleep all day, just this once. It won't kill me._ '

His eyes slipped shut.

 **BREAKLINE**

Dick coughed as he woke up, again. The smell of cologne was choking him.

"Have you been sleeping all day?" Bruce murmured. Dick sluggishly sat up and pulled on the mask and headphones, next to him.

"Not _all_ day." Bruce didn't reply to this.

"Alfred tells me you went out, today." Dick nodded.

"I did. Inner city."

"And how'd it go?"

"About as well as you could assume it would. And worse."

"What happened?"

Dick looked over and raised his eyebrow at the Dark Knight. He'd figured his little… _episode_ – had been in the news, by now.

Bruce dropped his head under Dick's scrutiny. "You changed. I saw it on the news."

Dick nodded, redirecting his eyes to study the windowsill.

"Luckily no confirmed casualties," the elder man added. Dick nodded again.

"Wally led me off with some steaks," he explained. "Don't think I had the time." The cologne smell burned at the back of his throat, and he coughed again. Bruce's eyes widened a fraction.

"You'll be in here the rest of the day?" The boy nodded, so Bruce got up and left, gently pulling the door closed, behind him.

He unloaded his briefcase in his own room, tossing the junk mail into the trash can, where it joined the empty, Versace-branded bottle.

 **BREAKLINE**

Dick hummed lowly as his eyes slowly opened. He realized with a wry sense of humor that, for the first time in at least a month, he actually felt well rested.

He then looked at the clock and hung his head in shame.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't do it, and he freaking _did_. He went nocturnal like some stupid animal. Like a wolf.

He shook his head and buried himself underneath the covers again, determined not to dwell on the late hour and instead get some more sleep. Maybe he wouldn't be so tired the next day.

At least half an hour passed, and sleep never came. His own body was against him; his body clock demanding that he get up _RIGHT. NOW!_

With a groan, he complied with the rest of him and rolled out of bed, pulling on a loose, white t shirt and a pair of bottle green pajama pants. He was already reaching for his headphones when he finally took notice of something.

He didn't need them.

The only loud sounds he could hear were three heartbeats: his own, Alfred's, and Tim's, who had just come back from a summer science camp. The rest of the noises of the mansion – the hissing of Alfred preparing meals, the washing and drying machines, and the grating whir of the vacuum – were all silenced.

Slowly, he stepped towards the door, footsteps and crunching carpet falling on his ears, well-oiled door swinging open without a sound.

He remembered back when he was a kid, and felt the mansion was different at night. It didn't take long to get over it, but to a nine-year-old kid who had just lost his parents, the whole atmosphere shifted when the moon came out, and he was alone. The floorboards creaked, not with age, but with the earsplitting sound that always seemed _wrong_ in those still, silent moments. The darkness around him had seemed profound, like it was not only devoid of light, but of life and welcome. The very silence resonated with noiseless whispers (which, if he were honest, had probably come from The Amityville Horror, which he'd seen a part of, when he'd peaked into the home theater).

That was then.

Now, the silence caressed his ears, a perfect haven from the assault of sound that the manor normally was, without his headphones. The darkness no longer bothered him, as it seemed to be just the right light. And the scentlessness that had once been almost eerie was now comfortable enough that even being in the parlor with the charred remains of a fire didn't make his chest constrict like a python of smoke and ash.

A small smile played his lips, as he lounged on the couch and picked a book from the small pile on the end table.

It was only an hour before he had to put it down, though. He could barely focus, he was so hungry.

He padded to the kitchen, and pulled open the fridge, eyeing the cold cuts and bacon, neither particularly pleasing.

A thought crossed his mind, but he shook it off. Things were already bad enough, him being up this late. He didn't need to more damage than he'd done so far. He settled for a sandwich piled with turkey. Maybe it'd even put him to sleep.

 **BREAKLINE**

Dick snapped his eyes open, after they'd threatened to slip shut. He could do this. Just a few more minutes, and then it was back up to bed for a quick nap.

Mmmm, sleep…

A pair of fingers appeared in front of his face, and he blinked furiously, looking at Bruce to show he was listening.

"You know, for the amount of time you were sleeping yesterday, you'd think you'd be more awake," he remarked. In the kitchen, Alfred exasperated over being short two slices of bread and eight slices of turkey.

"Haven't slept for a few hours," he explained, punctuating with a yawn and a stretch. Bruce's brows furrowed, but he didn't say anything else. Tim glanced between the two of them, and studied Dick for a minute, face set in thought.

"What are you sick with?" he asked, breaking the tense, blessed silence and staring Dick in the face.

"Sorry?" he replied, hoping the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face was enough to make him reconsider his question.

"Bruce told me you were sick and needed rest; Barbara told me the same thing. But you look fine. So, what's wrong?" Apparently not, then. Dick sighed.

"Look, Tim. It's something I'd rather keep to my-"

Bruce's cough interrupted him. The acrobat could practically _hear_ the disapproval in the older man's glare. Dick sighed again and hung his head in defeat.

"Um, a month ago, I woke up in the custody…of New York Animal Control." Tim's expression shifted to "what did you do?" to " _JUST HOW DRUNK WERE YOU?_ " Instead he merely asked "What does this have with anything?"

"Well, we ran some tests and found out that, instead of being kidnapped, I had chosen to go there. As a wolf; I'm a werewolf."

"So?" Tim asked, five seconds. The look on his face further betrayed the lack of lines he was drawing between 'werewolf' and 'sick.'

" _So_ , I can't fight like this. Just leaving my _room_ is a challenge. That's why I've been avoiding people; that's why I was sleeping all day, yesterday."

"So, you're not sick, then?" He supposed this had been a bigger shock than he expected, even if he'd been expecting to hear his brother had cancer or something equally terrible.

Dick shook his head. "Not sick."

"How did this start, anyway? When did you actually become a… uh?"

"We're not sure. Actually, we're not sure about a lot of things, regarding this," he said with a glance to Bruce.

"Since you mention it," the elder interrupted. "We should start running tests. Try to better understand what's going on."

Dick opened his mouth, more to ask why they didn't do this earlier than to protest, but Bruce shut it again with a wave of his hand.

"I didn't want to bring this up earlier, but since you said we don't know that much about what you can do, I suggest we start figuring that out. If you'd allow it."

That, of course, translated directly to "technically, you can say no, but I'm going to hound you until you agree."

"Uh, sure. Okay, fine," he replied, nodding his head. "Just let me get some sleep, okay?"

"We'll start in two hours."

With the dismissal in the man's voice ringing in his ears, Dick walked back to his room and flopped into his bed, sleep embracing him near instantly.

 **A.N.: Yeah, yeah, I know; Bruce doesn't exactly ooze fatherly love. What do you think of the scene with Tim? Too awkward? Too casual? What kinds of tests do you think they're going to do? And, like last chapter, how do you think Dick caught lycanthropy? I think I'll be revealing it next chapter, so I really want to know what you think. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	7. Variables

**Variables**

 **A.N.: There are some minor adult themes in this, so be warned. Enjoy!**

Dick sighed, leaning back in the chair next to his father. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could block out the dank smell that was choking him, despite the mask over his nose.

"How's Tim taking all this?" Bruce asked, not pausing from his work. The youngest of the bat family had walked Dick down to the cave, but had gone back up t get something, probably pretense, and hadn't returned yet.

"I think he's kind of shocked. Rightfully so, too," Dick replied. Tim was lighthearted, but he also wasn't one to believe in what his eyes couldn't see. So finding out that not only were werewolves real, but that his brother was one _and_ his father believed it was probably a very un-fun surprise.

"What are you going to test for, anyway?" the boy plowed on, looking over the spreadsheet. It was riddled with technical-looking letters and numbers, all of which he was too tired to really attempt to understand.

"Maximums and minimums, for lack of a better term. As well as how the change affects the virus."

"You're going to be taking my blood?"

"Only a milliliter at a time. You should be fine."

"But I'll also have to change."

"Later on, yes."

"Fine, but I am _not_ changing in front of you." This time, he didn't respond.

Instead, he pressed a needle into an IV tube and held out a hand. Dick hissed as the needle pierced his skin and entered his vein.

"So, how do you feel about microchips?" Bruce asked as he taped the needle in place.

" _What_?"

"In case we should ever lose track of you," He explained. Dick opened his mouth, only for nothing to come out. The concept was pretty logical.

"Fine. Whatever." Bruce nodded, looking back to the screen and finishing off with a few keystrokes. One more, and Dick's face screwed up at the intrusive feeling of blood being siphoned off from his vein.

"Glad you guys didn't start without me," Tim's voice echoed around the cave. Both men looked over to see him trudging down the steps, apparently having gotten over his shock.

"Just in time," Bruce remarked. He turned to the werewolf. "How would you rate the pain of changing, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst?"

"Ten," Dick immediately replied.

"Describe the progression of pain."

"It usually starts out feeling hot, like a fever, and then goes from that to a really bad headache, and then full body pain. The pain itself isn't so bad, maybe an eight, but it's the organs and bones shifting that just makes it so much worse." Bruce's brows furrowed, but he didn't say anything else on the subject.

"When do you normally get to sleep?" The boy let out a laugh, at that.

"You're joking, right?" Bruce glared at the younger man, reminding him that Batman _never_ joked.

"Usually I nap through most of the day and night. It's irregular. On a regular sleep schedule, I would sleep all day and be awake at night."

"Okay. By the way, Leslie's going to be coming over." Dick nodded. Bruce had already sent her the results from first discovering the virus; this way, there would be no more awkward explanations.

A sound grabbed his attention. He pulled of his headphones as his eyes flicked to a dark corner of the cave, a fair distance from where he was sitting. The noise repeated itself, a chirp, but unlike any bird or bat he'd heard before.

A hand shoved his shoulder, snapping him back to present moment and making him replace his headphones. Neither Bruce nor Tim seemed to have noticed anything strange.

"If you had to guess, what, besides full moons, brings about your change?"

"Well, the only other time I have changed was when I was with Wally. I don't know why."

"What was going on at the time? Anything significant?" Dick chewed is lip.

"Um, it was really loud, out. And smelled really strong."

"Anything that happened with _you_ , physically?" Tim interjected, probably annoyed with being ignored. He'd been silently rigging his brother up with electrodes for the past ten minutes, pausing at every question to eavesdrop. Dick shrugged.

"All I remember is that my heart was beating really fast. I don't know if it means anything." On the screen, Bruce typed in 'possible increased heart rate' under the box entitled 'causes of change.'

Dick flinched as the computer chose that moment to let out a monstrous whir, followed by a screeching voice that grated out _Leslie Thompkins: A14._

Tim, ever the gentleman, left Dick to fit the last electrode in favor of taking her bags and escorting the older woman the short distance to the batcomputer.

"Hi, Doctor Thompkins. How've you been?" he greeted, pulling a rather large duffel bag from her weathered hands.

"Be careful with that equipment, now, or you'll be paying for all of it," she chided. "I'm quite well, thank you. How's school going? Have you started your summer vacation yet?"

"Yeah. I just got back from a month-long camp, last night, as well," Tim answered as they both walked the last few paces to the monitors, where she paused to study her patient.

Dick chewed his lips again, squirming in his seat as he found himself unusually awkward. He'd had to remove his shirt to allow the electrodes, and he also hadn't showered the night before.

Leslie let out a laugh before reaching forward to pinch the young man's cheeks, before a quick tickle behind the ear, making him force a tightlipped smile.

"Oh, it looks like you might be putting on some weight there, bud," she remarked, pulling an otoscope out of her bag and painfully reminding him of the fact that he also hadn't been working out.

"Alright, I need you to keep your eyes open and looking at my nametag," she ordered. Then, true to her medical license, she began to shine a light in his eyes.

About halfway through the first one, she paused, taken by something.

"What?" he asked, looking up from the nametag.

"Nothing," she replied, sounding like it was definitely something. "Just eye shine. Have you experienced any pain in your eyes, lately?"

"Yeah, but it's only with, like, lights and stuff. At night, or in the dark, I'm pretty comfortable."

"Then I'm going to say that for you, eye shine is perfectly normal. It's a result of new tissues forming behind the retina, which improve your night vision. Nothing to be worried about." He nodded, looking straight ahead again.

"Anything medical happen in the last two months?" she continued, checking the other eye. Dick shrugged.

"I had a blood transfusion, but that was about a month before I changed the first time."

"Anything else?" She finished with his eye and, placing a plastic cone onto the tool, pulled back his headphones to get a look in his ear.

"No," he answered, wincing.

"Were you sick after the transfusion?" She moved to the other ear as he flinched at the volume of her voice. "Sorry, love."

"Yeah. I had chalked it up to having just lost a few pints of blood."

"What were the symptoms?"

"Fever, chills, a rash…"

"And how'd you lose that much blood?"

"It was a knife attack. The guy managed to slash my wrist." He turned over his scar-ridden arm to show her the one from the attack.

"Hmm," she said as she tipped his head back, pulled his mask down to his neck, and jammed the otoscope up his nose (without cleaning it off). "The virus must be transferable by blood contact, then. Funny, you never hear of that in a werewolf movie."

The easy mood he felt (despite the scent of earwax forced upon him) dropped like a stone. About a week and a half ago, he'd talked himself into watching a few werewolf flicks, now that he was somewhat settling into his condition.

When each movie not only featured the beast as the antagonist, but also ended with it dying, he realized it may have been a mistake.

And now, with that wound painfully reopened, he wondered, not for the first time, if that was what would become of him. If he'd eventually get so out of control that people would catch on, and even try to kill him. Maybe Bruce and Tim, too.

"I guess you don't," he remarked, trying to keep conversation going.

Leslie looked up, but didn't apologize.

Instead, she cleared her throat, checked the inside of his mouth before taking a cotton swab to it, and then pulled off the stethoscope from around her neck, listening to his heart and breathing, apparently nothing out of the ordinary there.

"Well, now comes the fun part," she said, and Dick's mood sunk even further at the knowledge of what the 'fun part' would actually be.

Then, she handed him a pair of headphones.

"Put these on, we're going to test your hearing," she said as she tried to push a flashdrive into the USB port, flipped it over, and finally succeeded.

"Okay…" He replied, pulling on the device. They were an older pair, probably bought either in bulk or in a Five Below, and the fragile plastic frame and thin foam padding did almost nothing to block out the other sounds in the cave, especially when compared to his Beats.

"We're going to start with volume," Leslie explained. "It'll start a mid-level volume, and get softer and softer. You need to let us know two things: When it becomes comfortable enough to listen to, and when you can't hear it anymore. Okay?" He got the impression that she was making a point of explaining everything for his benefit.

As he was saying, the headphones didn't do much to block out noise, but the high-pitched tone that played over them sure did.

He flinched and Leslie, seeing this, rushed to lower the volume. Thankfully, the sound that grated on his ears began to ebb.

"That's comfortable," he said when the sound reached a level somewhat comparable to normal speech, pre-change. "And now, I can't hear it," a few moments later.

Leslie mumbled and "Okay," as she jotted down the information, which he peaked at over her shoulder.

 _Comfort: 20 dB_

 _Lower threshold: 0 dB_

"Now for pitch," she announced, adjusting the volume accordingly. "You'll hear a long, sustained tone that gradually decreases in frequency, beginning at the very highest the headphones can produce. Let me know when you begin to hear it, and when it becomes too low to hear." Dick nodded.

A few moments passed before he flinched again, the cadence finally coming in like a demonic scream. This being enough of an answer, Leslie wrote down the frequency.

The pitch, as she said, slowly turned to something standard, to impossibly low, before it cut out, altogether.

"That's it, I can't hear it." Leslie nodded, wrote down the data, and waved her hand for him to take off the headphones, which he did.

Bruce opened up one of the minimized windows, and what looked like the screen of an ECG machine appeared.

"Are you able to hold off the change at all?" he asked, a bit late. Dick shrugged.

"I don't know. I held it off for a little while, with Wally. I still ended up changing, though. And, I don't want to risk hurting you."

"Well, do your best, and if you do change, we'll think of something." Dick nodded again, and made his way to the treadmill.

He smirked to himself after he'd been running for a few minutes, the rhythmic grinding of his feet against the belt and the beeping of the ECG in accordance with his pulse the only sounds in the sounds of note in the room. He might not have worked out in a while, but he wasn't _that_ out of shape. He didn't even break a sweat.

Still, the goal _was_ to raise his heartbeat, so he upped the speed.

Then Tim approached, and Dick immediately hoped he wouldn't actually start for quite some time. Time seemed to have just gotten over the whole 'my brother is a werewolf' thing; suddenly having to watch him double over without warning would probably not help matters. If this all still felt like a dream, he didn't want to make it Tim's nightmare.

"So, I was wondering…" he started. "Do you actually know it when you start to change?"

Dick shook his head, thankful for the simple question, rather than the emotionally loaded one he'd been expecting.

"Not immediately, usually. It starts out with heat, like I said. So it's a lot less pronounced at first. I usually figure it out when the headache sets in."

He was sure Tim had said something else, but he didn't notice because another sound had grabbed his attention, making him frown in barely recognized, yet still irrational distaste.

There was no doubt, this time. There was definitely a cat in the Batcave. Probably had gotten in through a crack or small hole somewhere.

The momentary distraction made him stop in his tracks, and his heart skipped a beat as he realized he'd been pulled back a few feet, almost off the edge of the treadmill.

"Did you hear something?" Tim asked, brows furrowed. Dick shook his head.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

This apparently sated Tim's curiosity for now, because he was silent as Dick placed his hands upon the heart monitor, wondering what he was at, right now. The screen stated about 110 beats per minute, and a small smile snuck onto his face. He was within his target zone; he could _totally_ get some exercise in, so long as he did it down here with his mask on.

A few minutes later, the smile slipped off his face, as well as any thoughts of exercise. He took a brief moment to assess himself: Yes, he was definitely heating up in a way he hadn't been a moment ago.

"It's starting!" he yelled out, not that his voice carried all that well with a mask over his mouth. Still, the pair across the room seemed to hear him, because Bruce pushed a button and the tube in his forearm suddenly began to fill with blood.

"You'll have to hold out for another second or two, to make sure we get the right amount. Can you do that?" he shouted, and Dick breathlessly nodded.

The monitor reported that his pulse was now at 145, and climbing fast.

Bruce, not a moment too soon, ordered him to stop running, and he leapt onto the sides of the treadmill, panting and trying desperately to keep his heart rate down.

 _155, 160, 165, 175, 180, 185…_ He could feel the headache, now, blooming in his skull as the number on the machine kept climbing, faster and faster. No stopping it.

' _Tim_ ,' he tried to get the word out, but he was out of breath, and his heart was pounding so loudly that he probably couldn't have heard his own voice, let alone a whisper.

The ache was setting into his bones, now, and he knew it was no use trying to hold it off. He was definitely changing now; he could feel his teeth growing in and could see the fur sprouting over his claw-tipped hands.

The pain was excruciating, even for what he'd experienced so far. It was so great that he didn't feel the needle that Tim had stuck him with.

Almost immediately, his legs turned to jelly and his whole body felt numb. Shapes – probably people, but now no more than just blurry shapes – grabbed him under the arms and kept him from toppling to the floor. There was a number, one he could just make out, that was always changing.

 _175, 165, 155, 135, 105, 75, 60…_

That was the last one before it disappeared, and the world around him lost its focus completely.

 **BREAKLINE**

He felt himself wake up, but he didn't open his eyes. It was too bright, already, and he was unpleasantly reminded of the two full moons he'd endured. Both had involved bright lights for some reasons. And drugs. Don't forget the drugs. **(A.N.: If you are doing drugs and you shouldn't be, please forget the drugs. I really, really want you to forget the drugs.)**

Still, he was determined to get up, of only so he could go back to his warm, dark room to sleep for a while. With no lack of effort, he dragged himself up on shaky limbs, supporting himself into a sitting position with his hands behind him.

Then, one hand swept his right arm out from under him, and another grabbed his head on the way down, setting it firmly back on the pillow.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," a familiar voice said. "You really shouldn't be up yet."

"Tim?" He managed say it, this time. "Why are you still here?"

"Leslie and Bruce wanted me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you didn't choke on your own puke or something like that." Dick nodded in understanding.

"Would you get the get the light?" he rasped. He heard Tim's footsteps as he went to flick off whatever light source hung above him.

"Better?"

"Much."

"So, uh," he began, probably wondering if the subject he was about to bring up would do more harm than good. "Bruce told me you opted to get a microchip implanted."

"Yeah," he replied, nodding.

"Why? I thought you'd be uncomfortable with it."

"Well, if I get lost or something…" he trailed off, the logic of the concept speaking for itself.

"Still, it doesn't bother you at all, that he's kind of treating you like a pet?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he's getting you chipped, he lets you sleep all day, and he doesn't really talk to you, even to try to understand what's going on. You're a freaking _werewolf_ , after all. So, why is he only doing this, now?"

"Okay, first off, _I_ was the one to agree to the chip; yesterday was an exception, actually; and I spend most of my time in my room, because it smells too weird, anywhere else. He _can't_ talk to me, or else I'd choke. And as for the last thing, why don't you ask him, yourself?"

Tim left without a reply.

 **BREAKLINE**

Dick did his best to ignore the weariness he felt. He was _so_ tired; it was almost like that could just become his whole identity. Maybe he could take a nap? Just a little quick one?

No, _stop that!_

He really did need to focus. Leslie was explaining the ins and outs of micro chipping, mostly through anecdote about how she'd spent a few years as a veterinarian.

"So, then, Bruce and Tim will hold you down, and Alfred will be on stand-by. He'll sedate if we need to, but we should be fine without-"

"Wait, what? You're doing this _without_ sedation?" he asked, eyes wide. He snapped his mouth shut when everyone turned to look at him like he'd just grown three heads.

Leslie was the first to speak up, immediately clearing the air with "You haven't been paying any attention at all, have you?"

He shook his head, telling himself to _focus!_

Leslie stepped forward, cupping her hands around his face and making _absolutely_ _sure_ he kept his eyes locked onto her.

"We need you in werewolf form to make sure we get the placement right for the microchip. Since we know that putting you to sleep will cause you to change back, we're going to have you change, and then inject you with the chip. Bruce and Tim will have to hold you down to stop you from biting or even knowing what's going on. When the whole thing's done, we'll let you go and give you enough sedative to let you change back."

"B-but…you said…" He tried to remind her of her earlier words, but the tang of disinfectant and Alfred's tea on her breath demanded his attention, and it took everything he had not to start hacking in her face.

"We'll sedate you if you get out of control, but I don't think we'll need it," she explained. "Okay?" He nodded. Off in the distance, he could hear a small chirp, infuriatingly reminding him of the cat that was, for some reason, _still_ in the Batcave.

A thought struck him as he got up.

"Oh!" he said. "Uh, one more thing you should know about." Leslie's face was blank as she looked at him to continue. "When I change – um – my clothes don't…change with me."

Leslie was unimpressed as she kept her attention on the needle she was preparing.

"Would you like us to leave you alone to change?" She asked. He mulled it over for a minute. On the one hand, he'd have total privacy if they left, so that was a big plus.

On the other hand, He couldn't exactly call them back in when he was done. Who knows what he could get into by the time they came back?

"I'll, uh, I'll just go change over there," he said, pointing over to a rarely entered tunnel of the cave. Everyone else nodded as he took a few tentative steps backwards in that direction, before turning to get there faster.

A cough escaped his mouth while he was stripping down. The cat was definitely over here, and probably not even three yards away. Truth be told, he'd known that well ahead of time, and he briefly wondered why he'd chosen to come here if he'd been despising the thing this whole time.

He sighed heavily, his nerves starting to get the better of him. He _knew_ he had to make himself change, and he _knew_ he it would take a while for him to get to that point just by running in place, but there were still people in the next room, and it would definitely be awkward for them to see this.

Still, he told himself he was entitled to his own body and his own pleasure, and set to work.

 **BREAKLINE**

Five minutes passed before they could hear the screams. If Dick had been in pain on the treadmill, Tim thought, then surely he must be dying, now.

For the next five minutes, Tim – as well as Bruce, Leslie, and even Alfred, he assumed – did everything they could to block out his agonized screaming and groaning, which had quickly devolved into whimpers and howls.

"Go upstairs and get a steak," Bruce whispered to Alfred, who left in search of the beef. "Dick!" he called. "Come here." Tim suspected he didn't think Dick would actually follow these orders.

There was a hiss from the direction he'd been in, and then a feline yowl which was quickly cut off and followed by the sounds of chomping and gorging.

When Alfred returned with the meat, Tim found morbid curiosity nibbling at his insides, and he followed the butler to the tunnel.

Inside it were a pile of clothes, a splatter of something that looked like milk (or that he told himself was milk), a trail of blood and fur, leading to a spot where the lights didn't quite reach.

"Master Dick," Alfred called as he waved the steak. He didn't need to get any farther than that, because the wolf, apparently unsatisfied with its meal, stalked out of the shadows, golden eyes trained on the red meat in front of it.

The duo stepped back calmly, and the wolf padded forward, curiosity piqued. Every time it got close enough to take a bite, Alfred would move the slab back with him, resulting in a comical display of sniffing and snapping as it walked the length of the cave.

Finally, Alfred tossed the food onto the steel table, and the wolf jumped onto it without a second thought. Cautiously, Tim placed his hand on the animal's head, feeling its soft fur beneath his finger tips. It growled, at first, but returned to its meal when the hand didn't move to take it.

Bruce joined just as slowly, and Leslie waited a moment for the creature to stop moving before sticking it between the shoulders and injecting the tag. Robin swept his hand along the wolf's back, trying not to feel weird about the fact he was petting his brother.

Then Alfred pierced the wolf's haunches with the sedatives before covering him with a blanket, and everyone else was forced to leave.

 **BREAKLINE**

Dick was glad Leslie was so understanding. If it had been any other doctor, they probably would have laughed in his face about being asked to make a follow up in the middle of the night. But, that was when he was most awake, so he wanted to be able to pay extra attention to what she had to say.

"So," she started, making her way to the computer to bring up his charts. "Let's take a look at this, shall we?

"Well, your blood work was mostly fine, and we found that the virus multiplies as you change, and is also present in your saliva, so be careful of that." She looked back to see Dick nodding. "And it seems that, even in your human form, your body has undergone some changes."

"Like what?" Bruce's voice asked. The pair turned their attention to see the billionaire descending the stairs, probably curious about the tests, as well.

"Well, the number of cilia in your nasal passage has increased, which enhances your sense of smell. We already talked about your eyes, and even your ear canal adjusted to be more like a wolf's." Dick nodded again.

"What about the other tests? The hearing and stuff?" he said.

"Because of those changes, anything you hear is dramatically louder than what it is – you know this. The level that would be comfortable to you is around 20 decibels, and your lower threshold is almost nothing. There's really not anything you can do about that that you aren't doing already. As for pitch, your upper limit is around 70 kilohertz, and the headphones actually failed when you said you couldn't hear it, so we can't measure that. Your maximum heart rate without changing is about 140 beats per minute."

"Any changes we should make?" Bruce asked, which immediately set Dick on edge, because the fact that Batman even WAS asking was because there were undoubtedly changes to be made.

Leslie nodded, before launching into her explanation.

"Well, Dick, I found that your T cells are down."

Dick snapped to attention, staring at her in shock. _Down_? His T cells were _DOWN_? The thought almost made him nauseous, and his mind refused to accept it. It couldn't be. It…it just couldn't.

He felt Bruce's hand clamp over his shoulder, but Leslie's next words made the fretting unnecessary.

"It's not serious _yet_ ," Oh, man, he hated that word. "and I suspect sleep deprivation has something to do with it. But, I advise you come by the clinic some time to get up to date on your vaccines, and maybe to drop by a vet as a wolf for those shots."

"What do you mean by sleep deprivation?" he asked, leaning forward. "I've been sleeping."

"Yes, but you don't get sleep when you're supposed to, and I'd hazard a guess that you also don't sleep well. Bruce told me your circadian rhythm, your body clock, has changed to make you nocturnal."

"So, what? You're saying I should just live like a wolf and sleep during the day?" The woman nodded.

"If that's what's most natural to you, I don't see any reason _not_ to. Nobody's forcing you to be diurnal." Any defense he had was immediately shut down, after that. The argument made terrifying sense.

"So, basically, just sleep during the day, get your vaccines, and try cutting out anything that isn't meat from your diet. I have a feeling that's what's causing you to gain a lot of weight; wolves don't typically eat anything but meat, so everything else is just filler, for you." Dick nodded. The last part, he supposed, wasn't especially terrible.

Bruce nodded and sent her off, before turning towards a separate room to change into his Batsuit. Dick, even though he couldn't go with him, followed after him.

"Tell me something," he said, not making eye contact.

"What?"

"Why did you decide to run the tests now, instead of earlier, or even right after I changed the first time?"

Bruce was silent for a moment, before replying with "I'd figured it was still a raw wound, for you. Didn't think you'd appreciate someone rubbing salt in it."

Dick stopped in his tracks. Batman? Wanting to _spare_ feelings?

Who'd've thought?

He shook his head, wishing Batman well and making his way to the kitchen to find some food.

 **A.N.: This chapter is probably one of the longest ones I've ever written, and definitely the longest so far on this fanfic. This is the fourteenth page, and there are 4,961 words in total.**

 **Also, does anyone else think that this story is paced kind of oddly? The first two chapters took place over a few hours, then there was nothing written for the subsequent month, and then the rest of the chapters have been over the course of about four days. I just think it's weird.**

 **So, anyway, is there anything you'd like to see from this fanfic? I'm starting to run out of ideas.**

 **Also, don't forget to check out my FaceBook page. Just search my penname on FaceBook. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	8. Food

**Food**

 **A.N.: Been a while, huh? I admit, my writing isn't what it used to be, and I had to rewrite this chapter because the file on my flash drive got corrupted. Not only that, but the first few versions I uploaded were weird, since I couldn't add line breaks from my phone. But, I'm back at it and working like a dog. Enjoy!**

Dick loved - no - _lived_ for nights like this. The woods on the edge of Gotham, only a mile away from the mansion, had become his home away from home in the weeks after Leslie's visit, and tonight was one of the best he could remember.

The new, green grass was soft under his bare feet, and the surrounding mist cool on his skin, mingling with his sweat as he did pushups under the trees.

He paused when his phone rang as it lay in one of his shoes by a tree. His joints cracked as he got up, sighing as his muscles relaxed.

He leaned his back against the tree as he read Bruce's text.

 _Come back home. Need to talk in cave._

Dick frowned. Bruce rarely texted him something like that, and when he did, it was never good news.

Nevertheless, he stuffed the phone into his back pocket and shrugged his shoes on, wiping away the grass, dirt, and leaf litter from his feet.

Cricket song died away as he left the tree line behind him. Not two weeks ago, he mused, he would have been brought to tears by the shrill, strange music. Now, though, it didn't bother him so much; most nights, in fact, he could just block it out.

Something rustled a few feet away, and he instinctively froze, crouching low. The breeze changed, making his mouth water as it brought a tantalizing scent.

Something white was peeking out of a patch of clover. His stomach growled, and without needing to hear anything else, the rabbit darted out.

He tensed, ready to sprint after it, ready to catch it and sink his fangs into warm, wet-

Whoa.

He took a steadying breath, relaxing his muscles and standing up. The wolf, on the other hand, pushed to chase the thing. To finally hunt.

He squashed the urge down, ashamed for even having it. He didn't need to hunt. He wasn't a killer. Besides, he'd already eaten tonight.

The cave was as dank and dark as ever, but at least the bats had gone out for food, leaving only The Bat in cold and empty space, staring at his computer.

"What's up?" Dick greeted, gaining the man's attention and doing his best to block out the dripping stalactites and rushing, underground river.

"You should get some sleep; we're going to the vet, tomorrow," he said, resuming what he'd been doing. Dick nodded, lip curled at the thought of having to play dog, and turned towards the manor entrance.

"But not just yet," Bruce added, forcing him to turn around and face the man, who wagged a finger to call him over.

"What?" He asked, sliding into a chair beside him. He could see that the thing Bruce had been working on was a list of names.

"Do you recognize any of these?" he asked, wheeling back to give Dick access. He scrolled through the list, spanning several pages.

"No, why? Who's on this list, anyway?"

"These are all the people who gave blood that was still viable by the time you had your transfusion. Your blood type is B positive, so…" He hit a few buttons, and about a third of the list remained.

"Still too many to investigate before the full moon," Dick remarked. Even Bruce knew it was true; the full moon was a week away, and there were still about a hundred names left. "Any other ways to narrow it down?"

"Blood is usually stored for six weeks, but fresher blood is ideal, since the patient has less risk of rejection. You didn't experience any rejection symptoms, so the blood you received was likely about a week old, at the most." He amended his function, and thirty names remained.

"Barbara and I can take eight while you and Tim take seven. We'll go to New Jersey the day after tomorrow. Deal?" Bruce asked.

"No."

"No?"

"Barbara doesn't know; this is something I want to keep as far away from her as possible. All three of us can take 10; it'll be a little harder, but not too bad."

"Why didn't you tell Barbara?" There was genuine concern in Bruce's voice, now, concern that made his anger flare.

"It's none of your business," He snapped, getting up to leave.

"Is something going on between the two of you?" the older man pressed, turning his seat around.

"No," he replied through gritted teeth. Luckily, Bruce seemed to have the good sense to not follow him.

The door slammed behind him as he entered his room, turning to crank up the air conditioning before he flopped on his bed, the covers cooling his sweaty back and calming his nerves.

It wasn't fair of him to be so mad, he figured. Bruce was only trying to help, after all.

Sleep found him with that thought in mind.

* * *

"1006, 1008, 1010…" Dick muttered to himself. The hallways of the apartment building were uniform, each door only differentiated from the other by the number screwed into the wood.

A week had passed since Bruce and he had made plans to scope out the blood donors. Bruce and Tim were finishing up their ten, finding nothing so far, and he was having just as much success. He was on his last round now, seeking out some guy named Remus Fenrir in an otherwise blessedly deserted and darkened complex. Bruce had forced him to leave his headphones and mask at home, since it would attract unwanted attention. And even though he'd spent most of his time trekking through back roads and residential areas, he was glad of the lack of people.

He coughed, a rancid smell bringing him out of his thoughts. He couldn't tell if it was sweet, sickening, or both; all he knew was that it was going to give him a serious headache and probably vomit.

As he found 1014, the smell peaked, and he finally realized what it was.

He didn't bother with knocking or pleasantries. He didn't bother with picking the lock. Instead, he took a few steps back, hand clamped over his mouth and nose, and rammed his shoulder into the door, feeling the latch give slightly. Another bash and the door swung open.

His vision swam as he tried to observe the room. Flies darted about, coating the walls like a sick, living wallpaper. Some were scoping out a plate of half-finished spaghetti, which his suddenly sensitive stomach wouldn't let him get close to. An unmarked jar of marinara had tipped and spilled on the counter.

He forced himself to look away, instead staggering down a hall to the room where the flies seemed to be massing.

It was blue. Blue and red and grotesquely bloated and blistered as it hunched over the toilet. Rank liquids he couldn't recognize pooled around it on the floor.

Suddenly, his vision cleared and he could see what it was.

He backed out of the house, terror settling in his stomach as he dropped into a sitting position on the floor. He shakily pulled out his phone, clenching his hand to somewhat steady his fingers. He just managed to text Bruce, _'Need your help. Explain when you get here.'_

He pulled a respirator from his utility belt, slipping it on. The fresh air it gave was sweet relief, so much so that he leaned his head back into the wall behind him, settling into the position.

His body sagged and his eyes drooped. As disgusting as they were, the flies' low hum was relaxing to listen to.

A flickering light drew his attention.

A lamp hovered over 1013, buzzing and faltering as if the bulb was on its last legs. Outside, he could hear nothing, as if the murmur of life had finally and fully ceased.

The carpet ground under his feet as he stood and approached the door, the handle feeling cold under his palm. Unnaturally cold. Otherworldly.

His apartment.

No.

No, not his apartment; that was in another state. But someone had certainly gone to a lot of trouble to replicate it.

The place was wrecked. Not only was there trash thrown about - trash he realized he had yet to clean up - there were more scratches on the walls, furniture laying in ruins, and bloodstains splotching the carpet.

"Okay," he thought out loud, detective skills bubbling to the surface. "Someone has recreated my apartment, trashed it, and led me right to it. Who, and why?"

It could have been the landlord, he supposed, but that left out the why. Had someone else broken in? And again, why would they want to do this?

Maybe it wasn't Remus who infected him. Maybe it was older blood, and one of the other donors had given it, and then wanted to keep him in line. Maybe it wasn't the blood at all. He'd been bitten by animals before, even once snapped at by Wolf. Maybe he'd been sick for a long time, and the virus had been dormant. Waiting.

Something drew a rattling breath behind him, making him turn.

Remus, staring at him from 1014's doorway with a cocked head and sunken eyes, rotting flesh giving off its foul, sweet stench. Dick covered his mouth and nose, coughing.

He slammed the door, double-locking it and staring through the peephole.

Remus was still there. Not trying to break through the door. Not even trying the handle. Just standing.

Dick coughed again. Blood. He coughed again. A bloody, putrid mush fell down his shirt and to the floor.

He started walking, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, paying no mind to the mess around him or his body falling apart. Only hurrying when the door suddenly shook against some sudden force.

His room was just as messy, the same scratches adorning the back of the door he'd closed. His bed was torn to shreds, springs poking dangerously out of the mattress. The place was hot, the smells so stifling it gave him a headache.

The front door broke in, and he could hear Remus's low growling. Could smell him as he made a beeline for the bedroom.

A shock ran through him, stinging his spine and seeming to settle in his gut, making him puke up another mess of blood and sick.

He locked himself in the bathroom, hanging over the sink. He stared into the mirror.

Yellow eyes gazed back at him, sharpened fangs revealing themselves when he bore his teeth. His raven hair fell over pointed ears, giving way to sideburns. The skin there felt smooth, but the hand in the mirror was combing through the facial hair.

The bedroom door fell in with a crash, making Dick flinch as another jolt ran through him. He breathed deeply, in through his nose and sighing it out of his mouth, trying not to gag on the taste of that rotting stench.

The door handle rattled. He stepped back, preparing to hide in the cupboard if necessary.

The final door fell open, and Dick found himself staring once again into Remus's bloodshot eyes, shimmering in the light. For each step it took, Dick took one back, until he tripped and fell, huddled, into the tub.

Taking another raspy breath, Remus reached out and grabbed Dick's shoulder, stinging pain dripping into his veins.

Dick woke up with a scream, pulling his head off the wall and letting his eyes painfully adjust to the newly lit hallway.

"Dick?" Tim asked hesitantly, Nightwing only just noticing him. He was kneeling in front him, worry crinkling his eyebrows. Dick could hear three pulses: his, Tim's, and Bruce's from the other side of the wall, probably investigating the crime scene.

"Must've dozed off," he said, groaning as he sat up straighter.

"It smells like death in here; how did you, of all people, manage to fall asleep?" Tim pressed, voice barely muffled by the respirator he wore.

Batman chose that time to step out, making both jump before he helped Dick to his feet.

"The victim was definitely Remus. Probable C.O.D.: food poisoning. And unless he had an antsy pet tiger, I'd say he's our guy. Frequent blood donor, scratches on the walls of his bedroom," he explained. Dick nodded, but the wolf inside squirmed and snarled.

"What are we going to do tonight?" he asked, reminded of the looming full moon. Bruce checked the time, ice settling into Dick's gut when he saw that it was 5 minutes to moon rise.

Without saying anything - without needing to - Bruce turned on his heel and hurried down the hall, taking the stairs instead of the elevator.

"Bruce," he called, following his mentor as the three of them jumped from level to level on the spiral stairs. "Where are we going? We won't make the street before it starts; we need a solution now."

"We'll get you back to the hotel, and I'll pay for any damages. Until then, you'll have to hold it back."

"And if I can't? If I get out of the room and start attacking people?"

"We have the means to sedate you." Dick groaned inwardly; of all the things he hated about full moons, tripping balls the next morning was his least favorite.

He could feel the heat setting in by the time they reached the third floor. Making matters worse, the stair jumping was making him breathless, unable to calm down. Apparently it showed, because Bruce only needed to take one glance back at him before his eyes widened and he hurried even more.

His head was pounding by the time they made the front door, so much so that he barely noticed the bystanders worriedly glancing at him or the police sirens a few miles out.

He ripped the respirator off his face, throwing the constricting thing to the ground where Tim picked it up. His sunglasses came off once they were in the car.

"Do you need anything?" Bruce asked. Dick flinched, both at the loudness of the man's voice and his burning touch on his shoulder.

"Just drive," he panted. He kept his hands clamped over his ears as the engine started, trying to block out the explosions in the engine.

The previous user of the rental car must've liked fast food. He could smell hints of grease combined with salt, wilted lettuce, and-

He jolted and nearly screamed when his whole body felt a sharp stab.

 _Focus,_ he told himself. _You're falling apart, so FOCUS._

He gasped, pain striking him again.

His intestines squished inside of him, making him groan, pulling his knees to his chest.

 _Stop. STOP!_

Trouble was he really didn't know what to focus on. His bones? Skin? Organs? Brain? Should he just ignore the transformation and hope it stopped?

He figured he should just take it as it came, which worked for about 10 minutes, until Batman stopped the car and bit out a curse.

Dick looked up and realized what was so terrible: Long lines of glaring taillights stretched endlessly ahead of them. They'd never make it.

This time, he did scream when his spine arched of its own accord.

 _Stop it!_

About two miles to the right, he could hear wolves howling. The sign over the exit advertised a-

"Zoo," he blurted, throat hurting as it fought to change with the rest of him. "There's a zoo a couple miles that way. With wolves."

"You want to go _there_?" Bruce clarified. The turn signal clicked when he nodded his head, and they got off the main road.

The only strong human scent he could smell when they got to the zoo was the night watchman near the front door. Everyone else had left for the night.

The irony of the situation lost on them for the moment, Tim hacked into the door while Bruce scaled the wall and knocked out the guard, laying him on a bench.

Dick pulled his shirt over his head, enjoying the cool air as he made his way, barefooted, down a path. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd grown fangs, but now they hung out of his open mouth, dripping poisoned saliva. He felt like he had stopped the transformation on the edge of a cliff; allow it only a little bit more, and he wouldn't be able to stop it again.

"Dick," Bruce's voice called behind him. He turned to see both Bruce and Tim approaching, the former with a worried look on his face, and the latter with barely hidden shock.

"Do you need us with you?" The elder asked.

"No," Dick grunted out, avoiding their eyes. "No, I don't...no." The wolves howled again, calling him. "Come find us," they said. "We're here. Come see us. We're lonely."

For a moment, it was like some kind of realization dawned on Bruce's face, but he didn't rest on it.

"We'll leave you alone, then. Just get out of here, so he won't get hurt," Bruce finished, jabbing a thumb at the sleeping guard. Dick nodded, stripping the rest of the way once their backs were turned.

* * *

"We'll give him ten minutes, and then we need to keep him away from the wolf enclosure," Bruce planned out loud, giving pause when they heard Dick start screaming behind them.

"Why?" Tim asked, half for explanation and half to cover the sound of his brother's torture.

"If he gets in, one of two things could happen. Either he challenges the alpha or the pack realizes he isn't a normal wolf and kills him on the spot."

"Why's it such a big problem if he challenges the alpha? Wouldn't he win, seeing as how he's a freaking _werewolf_?" Bruce shook his head. Behind them, the wolves howled again, met by a clearer, louder, more jubilated howl from the direction Dick had gone in.

"As far as I know, he's never even hunted for himself, let alone fought. Might as well put a Shih Tzu against a wolf pack; it'd have better odds." Tim snorted at the thought: his brother, Nightwing, bat-trained fighter who had held his own against hundreds of people, was a wussy werewolf.

The air had gone silent, so Bruce sprang into action.

"Find an empty enclosure, if you can. If not, any empty cage will work. Once you've found it, comm me, and I'll lure it over."

"' _It_ '?" Tim exasperated. He dropped it when his mentor glared, reminding him to _get moving_!

Bruce turned around the moment he was alone, headed in the den's direction, according to the signs. Already, he'd passed a bush with Dick's clothes behind it, but no sign of the man, himself.

Two minutes later, Tim radioed that he'd found an enclosure.

"I'm almost at the den. Stay where you are," he replied.

A few minutes after that, he froze in his tracks.

The exhibit was massive, studded with trees and wrapped in darkness. And, because the universe hated him, about ten signs hooked to the chain link fence presented information about the different breeds they had in the one enclosure.

Nevertheless, he turned on his flashlight and peered through the fence, the eyes of at least a dozen wolves shining.

His stomach dropped when he spotted a black wolf among them, its amber eyes illuminated by the light.

"Tim," he said through the communicator.

 _"Yeah?"_

"Dick's in the den."

 _"How'd he even get in there? It has a door; he couldn't have opened it!"_

"Crawled under the fence," Bruce replied, spotting a divot a few yards away.

 _"What's going on?"_

"Nothing," he said, somehow not relieved. "They haven't attacked yet, and it looks like he's just one of the pack. He's not trying to fight."

 _"That's good, at least. So, what now? Do we just let him stay there?"_ Bruce took another look at the wolf, which was getting to know another, silvery one. So far, so good.

"I guess. We'll keep an eye out, just in case. You can come back, if you want."

With that, he took a seat on the bench and prepared to scroll through his phone for 12 hours.

* * *

The gravel ground under his shoe as Bruce stepped into the wolf den, proudly sporting a zookeeper uniform and scouring the area for something.

That something glanced up from his position with an arm slung over a silver wolf, groaned, and laid his head back on the ground. As Bruce approached, the silver wolf appeared to wake, immediately turning to lick the werewolf, who made no attempt to stop it.

The wolf rolled out from under the blanket he'd thrown over Dick, continuing to lick the boy's bloodied cheeks.

"Get changed," he said, dropping a plastic bag by his side, which a dark gray wolf cautiously sniffed at. "The place'll open soon, and we need to be gone by then."

Dick nodded, wincing as he dragged himself up and petted his new friend.

Bruce turned to give his son some privacy. Behind him, he could hear the wolf whining slightly, returned with satisfied human chuckles.

"Whoa!" Bruce turned to make sure his son was alright. Dick had already finished changing and was kneeling on shaky legs, arms held out for balance. The man, without needing to ask, allowed the werewolf to use him for support and together they walked to the door, Silver brushing against the younger's legs and putting a soft smile on his face, despite the glaringly obvious pain he was in.

As they reached the door, Silver jumped onto Dick's shoulders, making him hiss. The wolf, however, continued to whine as it licked his face. Dick, in return, dug his fingers into the fur and pressed his forehead to the wolf's, both seemingly unwilling to leave the other.

But, all things must end, so Bruce tugged the boy out of the exhibit, propping him up against the outside wall.

"These'll help with the pain," he said, handing out some Aleve and following it up with a small bottle of water. "You might also want to wash your mouth off. You've still got blood on it." Dick nodded mutely, popping the pills and rinsing his face.

"So, what was all that?" Bruce asked, leaning against the wall, himself. His son sighed as he pressed his head into the paint, waiting for the painkillers to start working.

"All what?" he asked, glancing over.

"You, with the wolf." Dick shrugged, not looking his guardian in the eye.

"No idea. She must have a crush, or something."

" _She_?"

"She." A few seconds' silence reigned after that.

"Do you remember anything that happened last night?" He pushed on.

Dick shrugged again, still not making eye contact. "I ate a rabbit. That's it, though. Man, it's so weird!" he added.

"What's it like?"

"Like remembering something you did while under mind control. Like, I can remember it, and I even remember liking it, but it's weird to think about, now. It's like I hate that I liked it."

"That's probably normal," Bruce interjected. "The wolf would have different responses to stimuli than you would; you're bound to have different opinions on things. I wouldn't spend too much time thinking about it; just focus on remembering more, next time. You'll probably be able to improve your self control, that way."

"I feel like Two-Face," Dick grumbled. Bruce gave the closest thing he typically got to laughter - a small huff, really - and let the silence hang, waiting patiently for his son to move them along.

"Let's get going," Dick said a minute later, straightening up off the wall.

"Do you still need help?"

"Yes, please." They began limping over to where the car was parked, Silver following them with her golden eyes.

"What'd you do to the guard when he woke up?" Dick asked, the front gate coming into their view. He coughed, bringing a hand up to rub his temple.

"Let him wake up, and then we stayed out of sight. I also used the chemicals that Tetch was using to make him more...compliant. He thinks he dozed off at the beginning of his shift, and we were just a dream." Dick nodded sagely.

"One more thing," he said, leaning Dick against the rental car. He looked back at him with eyes hinted with dread. "The autopsy performed on Remus showed acute aconite poisoning. Now, aconite - wolfsbane - isn't something that just randomly turns up in daily life. He had to have been exposed to it deliberately. My guess is through the spaghetti sauce. It wasn't labeled, and there was ribbon in the trash."

"Someone could have given it to him as a gift," Dick finished for him. "Trying to poison him?" Bruce shrugged.

"Although, we don't even know that it was the sauce, and I doubt the police'll test for it there."

"Well," he replied, grabbing a vial out of the briefcase in the backseat. "Once we get back to the cave, we can test for aconite, but if you're willing to knock it out here, for us…" He held out the flask. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."

After only a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the vial and muttered something about making himself useful, before unscrewing the cap and holding it up to his nose.

The melodrama only lasted another second before it dissipated and Dick dropped to his knees, retching and spewing bloody putrescence.

Bruce was down beside him in an instant, unsure exactly what to do.

Dick slumped back against the car, panting hard with a dribble of blood on his lip. He swallowed thickly, wiping away the blood.

"I guess that answers that," he eventually got out. When he glanced up and saw Tim's horror-stricken face though the back window, Bruce shook away the shock and helped the boy to his feet.

"We're getting you to the hospital," he stated, holding the car door.

"Yeah, because that place has such a good track record," the younger said, getting into the car, Bruce following suit.

"This isn't a joke, Dick; you just vomited blood."

"I ate a rabbit; of course I puked blood, plus bones and whatever else was in there. I'm fine."

"Dick!"

"If it happens again, fine. But until then, we're going home."

Bruce said nothing, just seethed as he turned the engine and Dick settled into his seat, eyes slipping shut behind his sunglasses.

* * *

 **(A.N.: Adult themes ahead. Most of the scene is fine, but there's some content that's more for mature audiences. There won't be too much of it, so I won't change the rating, but you have been warned.)**

Aurora turned to face him, tongue lolling out of her mouth. He smiled at her, admiring her silver fur and golden eyes. Forest stretched around them, warm, yellow light shining on the emerald leaves and lime grass that waved in the pleasant breeze, which brought distant flowers on its back.

"Just this way," she said, her sweet voice like a balm. "Stay low, and do as I do." He nodded, glad that she was showing him how to do this.

Together, they crept forward, tails and noses low into the dewy flora, until they came upon their prey. A few yards upwind, a herd of deer grazed on young grass in a clearing where the morning sun gleamed its brightest. For the moment, they seemed oblivious, perfectly content.

"Find one that's weak," Aurora explained, never taking her eyes off of the deer. "The others will put up too much of a fight. The young taste best, but the oldest ones and the sick are good, too."

"Perfect," he replied, a smile once again cracking his face.

The crouched another moment, his damp paws growing colder by the minute, before they sprang.

Immediately, Aurora found her kill, scratching at the fawn's ankles before dispatching it with a swift bite to the throat.

He flinched. A hoof nearly clipped his snout as the rest of the herd ran off. He chased, enjoying the thrill it gave him.

"Deek!" the other wolf called after him, glancing up from her catch.

She howled, but he barely heard her as he sprinted after the thing, finally getting close enough to pounce.

Two minutes later, he was forced to come crawling back, battered and covered in blood, most of it his.

"You hunt like a cat," she laughed, looking up to see his limping her way.

"How would you know what a cat hunts like?" he quipped. She stepped aside, motioning her nose to tell him she would share. He dug in, more blood staining his snout and running down his fur.

"The humans that keep us sometimes take them out to show others. Savannah, I think they called them. Sometimes they chase after birds." She sniffed at a part on the other side of the skinned animal, and - without much thought - he swung a paw out and bumped her chin into the wet meat, fur stained red.

"Deek!" she cried, husky laughs following. "What was that?"

"Just having a little fun," he replied, taking another bite. The next thing he knew, she was slamming into him and playfully biting at his throat.

He responded in kind, rolling over so he was on top. She tried to roll too, but he was ready for her, stepping off before he could be pulled with her.

"Deek," she sighed, her tail perking up and sweeping between his right legs, making him shiver. They panted, tongues lolling and hearts racing together. "Deek!"

Her silver fur felt soft between his front paws, brushing rapidly against them. He moaned, growing breathless as his mind melted with the sound of her gasping his name with mounting passion. "Deek! Deek! Deek!"

"Dick. Dick!" He heard Tim say, and all together, the bright forest melted into the tacky beige interior of the car, the gray sky just visible to his blurry vision. Tim shook him again, roughly jostling his sore muscles. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty; we're back at the hotel."

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as he dragged himself out.

"Bruce is already inside. He found us a breakfast table," Tim explained as they started walking. Dick nodded, breathing through his mouth as he tried to get his heart rate under control.

"Who were you dreaming about?" Tim asked once they were halfway between the car and the Hotel's door.

"Who said I was dreaming about anyone?" he replied, praying that Tim would drop the subject.

Out of luck.

"You were moaning in your sleep," Tim rebuffed. "You don't make sounds like that unless you're dreaming about someone else."

"Anne Hathaway," he lied, putting a smirk on his face. Tim gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder, grinning himself.

"Are you feeling any better?" Bruce asked, once the two had sat beside him at the last dregs of the free breakfast bar

"Much," he replied, digging into his eggs and bacon.

After breakfast was polished off, Bruce and Tim went to unpack, and Dick flopped down on his bed and dreamt of Aurora.

 **A.N.: And, that's as close as I get to smut! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please leave me a review. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!**


	9. The Other Woman

**The Other Woman**

 **A.N.: No reviews on the last chapter. Am I losing my touch? Oh well; enjoy, anyway!**

A hand shook his shoulder, and Dick was shocked to find himself standing at his bedside window, staring out at the bright morning as an emerald forest and silver fur melted away. He sneezed when cologne stabbed his nose, making his already stinging eyes water. He could hear, though he usually ignored it, two heartbeats in the room: Bruce's steady rate and his oddly pounding one.

"You were howling, again," Bruce said, stuffing his hand back into his pocket. His face was cautious, eyes and mouth drawn into severe lines. "Everything alright?"

He nodded, getting out a surprisingly hoarse, "Sorry," as he rubbed his rough throat, blinking against the harsh light.

"Who were you trying to call?" the man asked, looking out the window, himself. Dick furrowed his brows at the man.

"Who says I was calling anyone?" Bruce shrugged.

"Wolves howl to signal their position to another pack member. So, if you were howling, then there's another wolf in Gotham. Do you know who it is?"

" _Or_ ," Dick snapped. "I was asleep, and it was just a dream. You ever think of that, _World's Greatest Detective?_ " Bruce glared for a moment.

"You might want to call Barbara, later," he added. At the sharp look his ward gave him, he tacked on, "You don't have to tell her anything if you don't want to, but she _is_ worried. She even asked about you, the other day. So, unless you want her to pay a visit, I suggest you check in with her, sooner than later."

Dick nodded, yawning as he made his way back into bed. "Alright, I'll call her later on."

"Sweet dreams," Bruce replied, a hint of wry humor in his voice. He turned back towards the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

"Good luck with your board meeting," Dick answered, facing the ceiling. Footsteps died down the stairs, leaving Dick to listen idly to his heart.

This had to be at _least_ the fifth dream about Aurora he'd had in the three days since the full moon. All five had been intensely real and _none_ of the five had been or would be mentioned to Bruce, if he were lucky.

"I'm hung up over a wolf," he realized, slight panic settling into his stomach.

However, even as he tried to wrap his mind around how he'd get over a long-distance, interspecies crush, sleep claimed him, and he was whisked away to the deep forest once again.

* * *

A musty smell filled his nose as he woke up, again. It was, to his surprise, light and pleasant, something he didn't immediately choke on. Joining it was the faint smell and squishy sound of Alfred making a tuna salad (significantly less enjoyable).

He opened his eyes and located the source of the smell and second pulse in the room.

"Have you been watching me sleep?" he groggily asked, only half-joking. He dragged himself up, glad he'd put on a shirt that morning. He wryly noted the fact that it was only noon.

Barbara smirked. "Only for the last ten minutes; you're just _too cute_!" She chuckled, under her breath. "All joking aside, Alfred said you were sleeping. I just didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks," he yawned. Relative silence settled between them, save for their own heartbeats. He had no idea _why_ sounds had suddenly become so much more intrusive, but it was like he could no longer ignore those types of noises. It would certainly get old quick.

"What do you have?" Barbara chirped, making him flinch and derailing his train of thought.

"What's wrong?" she said, thankfully in a hushed tone.

"Loud," he replied. "The...condition I have; it increases some of my senses. Disrupts my sleep cycle, too. That's why I've been sleeping all day: I can only stay awake at night."

"Oh," she whispered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Or wake you." He shrugged, a small smile on his face.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"I just wanted to visit. I mean, it's only been _two months_ since we've even seen each other," she quipped.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at his comforter to avoid her sapphire eyes. "I meant to call you, today, but…" He shrugged again, shaking his head at his stupidity.

"I forgive you," she murmured, a light-hearted smile on her face. She climbed onto the bed next to him, unaware of the fact that by doing so, she was making Dick's head spin as he drank in her scent of soap and books.

"So," she said, breaking his thoughts, again. "What disease causes sleep disturbances and intensifies - which senses?"

"Sight, hearing, and smell," he listed off. Barbara hummed in thought, leaning into his side. He wrapped an arm wound her, absently stroking her arm.

"You know," she giggled. "Increased sight, hearing, and smell, plus being nocturnal… It kind of sounds like you're a werewolf!"

He forced a laugh. "Yeah, it kind of does." He cleared his throat and lied through his teeth. "In actuality, what I have is an entirely new thing they're calling 'Grayson's Disease.' Apparently, it's some kind of virus. Incurable."

"Can't your body fight it? Has it been?"

"Hmm-mm." He shook his head. "Doctors are pretty much scratching their heads, but the one thing they _can_ agree on is that it's definitely chronic; I'll have it the rest of my life."

He grappled with that for a moment, the reality somehow only setting in now. For a reason he couldn't really identify, he had figured this whole time that the condition was temporary. That they might be able to find some miracle cure, or maybe Ra's would show some shred of mercy and let him use the Lazarus Pit.

Now that he'd said it aloud, those things seemed a million miles away. Moments of mercy or pity from Ra's Al Ghul were few and far between, and miracles were thin on the ground. He was well and truly stuck.

"So," Babs said, breaking the silence. "Not a werewolf, then." He pulled on a wry smile, shaking his head.

" _Definitely_ not a werewolf," he chuckled.

She twisted around in his hold, her chest to his side. "So, therefore, this doesn't have any effect," she murmured cheekily, reaching up and ruffling the hair behind his ear, her nails scraping his scalp and sending shivers up his spine.

He sighed, melting into the sensation, and the wolf doing the same. "That actually feels _really_ good," he moaned, eyes slipping shut as he slid back onto his pillow. Unconsciously, he leaned into her fingers, on the edge of falling asleep, again.

"What about this?" She moved her hand down to his abdomen, slipping under his t-shirt and digging her nails harshly into his stomach. Another moan escaped him as he tipped his head back, brain completely short-circuiting.

He heard, rather than felt, his leg begin to jerk rapidly, his bed creaking with the motion. What he _did_ feel was his head going light and dizzy. Whether it was from the scratching, her scent, his exhaustion, or a combination of the three, he had no idea. He just knew that he would probably pass out if she kept this up.

All too soon, though, she pulled her hand away and his leg stilled. She slapped his chest, giggling infectiously as she laid next to him. Sure enough, he found himself laughing too, glad that she thought the werewolf thing was only a joke.

"So, what do you do to keep yourself occupied?" she asked, slipping her folded hands under her head.

"You know the woods a mile or two away from here?"

"No, but go on."

"Well, I go for walks, there, sometimes," he truthfully explained. "Not exactly labor-intensive walks - the symptoms get worse as my heart rate elevates - but I like to explore."

"What about your senses?"

He shrugged. "You get used to it, I guess. The smells used to bother me, especially. But after a few weeks, I just stopped noticing."

"Hmm," Barbara replied. She left it at that, rolling over and slinging an arm over his abdomen with a sigh. "I'm just gonna nap here," she said.

"Go home and sleep," he laughed, gently shaking her. She groaned but didn't move. He gave up, feeling sweet sleep creep back up on him.

He vaguely heard Batgirl say something about Mal taking up a superhero name and the team needing a new ops manager. He couldn't make most of it out; his exhaustion was pulling him deeper and deeper. He was pretty sure she'd asked him a question, to which he lazily agreed before finally falling asleep.

 **A.N.: Remember how Wally calls Dick a dog? That just took on a whole new meaning. Next chapter, Nightwing returns to the cave! Let me know how you'd like that to pan out.**

 **Should the team be mad at him for leaving? Sympathetic? Who do you think finds out first, and how? Let me know all of that, as well as what you thought of the chapter, in a review, and I'll be glad to write it! Also, give my latest story** _ **The Wolf at Night**_ **a read and please review on that. Second chapter is in the works, so I'd really like some feedback.**

 **Until next time, thank you for your time and GOD BLESS!**


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